


to pretend to be normal

by paopuleaf



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of the rest of the Miami Dale, attempted incineration, circa Season 9 Elections, immense detachment from own emotions (raúl), immense feeling of thank god im not dead (don), mentions of cigarettes. its a very offhand detail, once again writing stories about the dale (florida flavored)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paopuleaf/pseuds/paopuleaf
Summary: “don.”“raúl,” don greets. one of his palms is braced against a brick wall, body tucked between the election hall and the border keeping press out. his sniper rifle is in the dirt, half-hidden by plants, out of reach. it couldn’t help him then, and it won’t help him now. “... new kid, huh?”-(don and raúl have a conversation.)
Relationships: Don Elliott & Raúl Leal
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	to pretend to be normal

**Author's Note:**

> particular brands of the dale that show up here  
> \- don elliott as a disney tourist looking to kill mickey mouse, got roped into blaseball. somehow is the most Florida Man of the dale, despite being from miami, ohio, originally (he/him)  
> \- raúl as mostly the hologram we all know in love, but Extremely out of touch with human emotions and what they're feeling at any given point on virtue of Being A Hologram Made Of Sound Waves (they/it)  
> passing mentions of  
> \- caleb novak, team captain and everglades plant monster. don's qpp (they/them)  
> \- randy as a south florida movie theatre ghost (they/them)
> 
> title is from love, me normally by will wood

“don.”

“raúl,” don greets. one of his palms is braced against a brick wall, body tucked between the election hall and the border keeping press out. his sniper rifle is in the dirt, half-hidden by plants, out of reach. it couldn’t help him then, and it won’t help him now. “... new kid, huh?”

raúl’s hologram glitches, and then they’re next to him, both legs propped up. afloat. “new kid,” they agree, voice wavering. “second attempted incineration.”

“second failed one.”

“kept you safe.” raúl turns their head to look don in the eyes, mouth flickering into a grin. sticks even as they continue, the same one they wear for the crowds, for the party. “they were planning this. the fans, not the team. figured- y’know, i’d keep it off. save everyone else.”

the election hall is in some state of commotion. faint cheers of  _ mike townsend,  _ among other things. don’s attention is fully on raúl. “you have a problem with that?”

“don’t know yet. they were right, though.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” raúl’s back flashes, and then there’s another arm, gesturing to don. “you’re still here, and- the other teams… didn’t get the same luck.”

“you can’t blame yourself for that shit, son.” don scrapes his palm lifting it, shuffles through his cargo pants until he can pull out a cigarette box, lighter. lights one and takes a deep inhale. exhales. “i, for one, am real glad ‘m still here.”

the commotion gets louder, then quieter. the slight feedback fuzz of a mic. raúl takes the lighter from his hand and flicks it on and off. “i’m glad too. we’re- all glad. wouldn’t be a party without you.”

“didn’t answer the first part.”

  
“i don’t know what i feel about it,” they admit, “if i’m blaming myself, i don’t know that. nobody’s ever described  _ guilt  _ in full detail to me before. nobody’s named it for me, and they probably can’t. i don’t know if i want them to.”

don huffs a laugh. “sometimes i’m jealous, kid. would’ve thought caleb explained it to you, though, after the incinerations before. they talk to me about it.”

“i don’t feel bad about those.” raúl looks away, now. keeps flicking the lighter. on/off. if they were human, their clothes would be on fire, hand tucked between folds of digital clothes. “i miss them, but i don’t feel bad. that’s just blaseball, y’know? one of them brought randy into the folds. another brought cb. caleb doesn’t really talk about their bad feelings to anyone but you, anyway, haven’t you noticed?”

“nah. they talk to avila, sometimes, so ‘ve heard.”

“really?”

“mm.”

“huh.”

flick on, flick off. don twists the cigarette into the brick wall until it extinguishes. “y’wanna head inside, now?”

“not really. i left the iffey jr. with randy, and they’ll take good enough care of it. seems too loud.”

“too loud,” don repeats, snorting. “you host parties and y’think the commotion in there is too loud.”

raúl lets go of the lighter top and tosses it at don, rolling their eyes. in a flash, they’re standing on his other side, picking up the rifle. “it’s  _ the garages  _ kind of loud, don.”

“is that what all the fuckin’ chanting’s about?”

“what, the-” raúl’s voice shifts, echoes with the voices of tens of other people. “ _ mike’s back, mike’s back _ ?”

“‘xactly.”

“yeah.  _ the garages  _ kind of loud. they’re gonna write a song about it, and it’s gonna be obnoxious, and i’m gonna get requests for it all the time.” 

don stands, fully. takes his rifle from raúl’s hand. “we can go somewhere else, then, how ‘bout that.”

raúl grins, again, lopsided. the genuine kind, that they save for randy and special occasions, when they’ve got their emotions together. “sounds like a plan. avila’s truck?”

“y’ really out for a death wish?” raúl’s already gone. probably in the parking lot already. don sighs, slings his rifle over his shoulder and starts walking. death wish it is.

rather die by avila then die by umpire, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> was hit with the dale feelings again  
> you can find me on twitter @ ghostcatboys or on tumblr @ catboydeicide, or in the crabitat, probably having feelings about the dale


End file.
